


fill me up and send me home

by theangryblob



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Cooking, F/F, Fluff, keiji swooning for butch osamu, meet cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 20:35:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29922489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theangryblob/pseuds/theangryblob
Summary: Her name in Osamu’s mouth is sexy, low voice curling around the consonants like they’re something to be tasted, savored. Keiji’s face feels hot, and she clears her throat, squeezing her legs together. “Keiji is fine.”
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Miya Osamu
Comments: 4
Kudos: 17





	fill me up and send me home

**Author's Note:**

> thank u to my lovely claire for beta <33333

The sliding door is open and the thin plastic sheets hanging from the frame sway lightly with the breeze. It’s more… quaint than Keiji had thought it’d be, given how freakishly popular the Shinjuku branch is, with lines out the door for hours on end. She’s only ever been there twice and not for lack of trying. Keiji doesn’t mind the wait: she thinks it's worth it, but her job rarely allows her the luxury of standing in line for an afternoon. 

She stares up at the modest two story restaurant, taller than it is wide, situated between two other complexes, full of restaurants. There are bars on street level spilling out into the pavement, but Keiji can see they’ve only just opened, workers unlocking doors and putting out chairs. 

Her stomach grumbles and she stands up a little straighter, fixing the shoulder strap of her messenger bag and stepping inside. 

_ Onigiri Miya _ looks much the same on the outside as it does on the inside: warm, clean, and familiar. Wooden panels and a mostly traditional look, there’s something about it that resonates, unlocks the feeling of homeliness and moves Keiji’s feet right up to the counter. Compared to the huge layout in Tokyo, this one feels smaller and squashed, and while there’s a few patrons here, Keiji imagines how it must look like when it’s full, packed with the lunch time rush. The idea of knocking chairs and heavy chatter feels more intimate and personal than claustrophobic, and she knows she likes this place already.

“Welcome to Onigiri Miya! Please take a seat, I’ll be with you in a second.”

There’s a bar in front of the counter, separated by clear glass panels, and Keiji takes a seat in front of it, tentatively setting her bag on the floor. the staff member moves away from in front of her, plating some onigiri and taking it out to one of the tables. The space in front of Keiji is empty now, so she rests her hands on the bar, looking down at her nails. 

They’re a little longer than she likes, and she takes note that she’ll need to trim them when she gets back to her lodgings tonight. She’s been so busy lately, she hasn’t had the time to take care of herself. 

The kitchen door swings open and another staff comes out, wearing the familiar black t-shirt and apron Keiji’s come to know. 

But the face is a shock - Keiji came here at Kuroo’s insistence, because if she’s so obsessed with the Tokyo version, then she’s got to meet the woman behind it all. But Miya Osamu now, years and years since they’d played against each other, is a shock to the eyes. The face is familiar enough - Keiji is acquainted with her sister after all, there’s something about the cool maturity of her posture, the ease with which she welcomes Keiji to her restaurant, feels very different. 

There’s a brief flash across her eyes, but Osamu merely smiles and hands her a menu. 

Keiji stares down at it, dumbfounded for a moment. Wasn’t she supposed to introduce herself? Kuroo mentioned that she’s friends with Osamu, which means something more like friendly acquaintances if Keiji knows anything, but now she wonders whether Kuroo has lost her mind. 

She doesn’t know Miya Osamu! The last time Keiji spoke to her was more than ten years ago, and even then she can’t remember what they talked about. She’s only sure they spoke because of sheer probability, since they played against each other once after all. 

“Please take your time. When you’re ready, I’ll take your order.” Osamu places her palms down on the kitchen counter, comfortable, and Keiji feels a little swept up. Even when she’s not flexing, Keiji can see the weight of her muscles, thick biceps and strong hands. Osamu doesn’t have the compact athlete body Keiji remembers her for, but even with her shirt fitting around her round belly, Keiji can tell she’s  _ strong _ . Opens her own jars, carries heavy boxes, could probably lift Keiji without breaking a sweat.  _ Strong. _ She swallows. She resists the urge to blurt out  _ huh  _ and instead clears her throat.

“Actually, I was hoping to ask for your recommendations if it’s not too much trouble. I am a vegetarian.”

Osamu nods, leaning forward to point at the menu. “If ya’ flip it over, you’ll see our vegetarian and vegan section,” Keiji does flip it over, thumbing the menu card, “but I would recommend our grilled miso eggplant, the umeboshi, and scallion inari-zushi.”

Keiji nods. She’s only made the switch to vegetarian recently, and she’s never tried the umeboshi filling here before. “Could I try all three then?”

“A full plate of each?” 

She flushes. “Yes please. I’m very hungry, as I skipped lunch earlier.”

Osamu nods, and Keiji’s eyes flit to her hair, tied back neatly in a ponytail with the end curling up and brushing over her shoulder. She’s very professional-looking. Keiji can only compare her to her sister, with Atsumu’s shock of blonde hair and side shave, where she’s taking to carving a lightning strike with her razor. That, along with the shock of piercings and tattoos have made her a media darling, even outside the volleyball world. 

She’s nice enough to Keiji, but  _ intense _ like a tornado. Osamu feels more like a warm breeze. A comfort she can lean into. Someone easier to be friends with, more gentle. 

Keiji hands the menu back to Osamu, sitting politely as Osamu prepares the ingredients, moving from one counter to another. It’s only once she starts that Keiji realizes she’s doing it right in front of her so she can see. Which is...nice. The way Osamu meets her eyes and smiles, deft fingers not wasting a second, makes it feel like Keiji’s watching a show that Osamu is performing.

Which is. Strange. Not unpleasant, because Osamu is watching her too, and that makes Keiji’s heart race in her chest. She averts her eyes for a moment, brushing her hair behind her ear. Her bun had felt too tight and she let it down, but now she feels less put together. 

“Sorry, but I think I’ve metcha’ before.” She stills, looking at Osamu with wide eyes. “Ya’ went to Fukurodani, right? I played volleyball against you in highschool.”

Keiji nods, grateful that the burden of making a conversation has been taken from her. “Akaashi Keiji. I was the setter. Do you remember the Spring nationals in our final year? You were a devil on the court.”

Osamu laughs, a loud sound that comes from her chest, and it feels right at home in the restaurant. Keiji can hear other customers coming in behind her, but Osamu pays them no mind, wrapping nori sheets around rice with quick precision. “Ya’ don’t hold back, huh? Next time introduce yourself right when you come in, Akaashi-san. A familiar face is always good. Ya’ mind if I speak informally?”

“Please, go ahead. I didn’t want to be rude and assumed you remembered if you didn’t. It’s been a while after all.”

Osamu retrieves a plate from a stack on the counter, bringing it close so she can start assembling. “Nonsense. Like I’d forget a face like that,” _ what _ , “Akaashi-san, ya’ know you’re a stunner. You and Bokuto-san stole the show back then. I always thought your plays were cool.”

She blushes, ears warming up, because was that supposed to be a question? A statement? Osamu just slides over the plate and Keiji shivers, looking down to hide the blush on her cheeks. She’s been called pretty before, but the way Osamu breezes through compliments so smoothly that Keiji doesn’t know whether she’s being flirted with or not. She’s not opposed to the idea, but it’s been a long while since she’s felt flustered like this.

“Thank you, Miya-san. It’s been a long time since I’ve played on a court, so it makes me happy that you remember. It’s a shame I never got the chance to set for you.”

Osamu shrugs, starts scooping rice for the next onigiri. “Maybe one day. I still play casually. Akaashi-san, eat up while it’s hot.”

“Ah, yes. Thank you for the food.” 

Keiji’s mind lingers on the same Osamu says her name, accented in that low voice, charming and handsome. It’s a fluttering thought, but easily dispelled when she takes her first bite of perfectly salted rice and grilled eggplant, a burst of savory flavor that fills her mouth and counts her tongue. It’s  _ so good,  _ better even than the ones she’s tried before, and Keiji practically moans around her bite, eyes half shut and she chews. 

Onigiri Miya really is the best. 

By the time she’s done with her first plate, and she eats fast, Osamu places another one in front of her. She’s grinning, all teeth and amusement, and Keiji flushes, suddenly embarrassed at how quickly she’d eaten and how vocal she’d been about her enjoyment. 

“Ya’ like it?”

She nods enthusiastically, gently placing the empty plate to the side. “I did. It’s very delicious. Even better than the ones they make in Shinjuku.”

Osamu’s eyes twinkle, crinkling at the corners, and she looks rather pleased, a little smug even. “Really now? If things aren’t as good there then I’ll have to step in for quality control.”

Keiji’s eyes widen. “Oh no, Miya-san, that’s not what I meant at all. The food there is great, it’s just even better to eat it here, especially when you make it.”

“When I make it?” And Osamu grins, broader than before, just as it dawns on Keiji that Osamu was probably joking  _ and  _ that she’s just said something she shouldn’t have. 

She clears her throat. “Well, this is the original Onigiri Miya, and you are the Miya in question. I only meant that of course it’s going to be better here than in the other branches. Not everyone gets to eat food that you made with your own hands.”

With that, she hurriedly takes a bite of her food, stuffing her mouth to avoid having to say anything else, and then taking another bite because it’s just  _ that good _ . She’d thought her hunger would have calmed a little but she feels ravenous, taking one bite after another. 

“You’re funny, Akaashi-san.” And she doesn’t elaborate after that, just grins to herself. 

It occurs to Keiji that she’s waiting not just for Keiji’s reaction, but pausing so that the next plate is ready just when she finishes this one. Does she have that kind of time? There are other customers here, after all, but Osamu pays them no heed, letting the other staff flutter around her as they prepare food and serve it. Keiji meets her eyes, mouth slowing to a stop, and holds her gaze for a moment. 

Osamu just stares back, droopy eyes zeroed in on her, as if they’re the only two people here. For as small this place is, Keiji suddenly feels like she’s in open air, like the floor has disappeared under her bar stool and if she leans back too far she’ll fall. 

She curses herself for thinking Osamu isn’t as intense as her sister. She’s  _ worse.  _

“These are delicious, Miya-san. You’re a talented chef.”

Osamu hums, self-assured. “And it’s an honor to make food for ya’, Akaashi-san. You’re a good eater.”

She tilts her head. “I’m not sure what you mean...”

“Like, your expressions. Ya’ look so happy when ya’ eat, and ya’ stuff your cheeks like a squirrel. It’s adorable. Any chef would be happy to serve ya’.” 

Keiji can’t help the noise she makes, a distressed little sound that scrambles out of her throat and she drops her head, face on fire. “I’m sorry if I’ve been rude.”

“No, no, not at all. Akaashi-san, relax. You’re the best type of customer.”

Osamu prepares the last plate, assembling and sliding it over to Keiji. “So, can I ask why you’re in Kobe? You live in Tokyo, right?”

“Yes,” Osamu is politely not looking at her, but when Keiji dares to glance up, she notices a light pink on Osamu’s tanned face. Her jaw is so sharp, and there are the beginnings of crow’s feet at the corners of her eyes. She’s so  _ handsome _ , and Keiji’s traitorous heart swoons in her chest. 

“I’m here on a business trip. I work for a literary magazine and I’m here for two days to speak with some writers. My friend, Kuroo Tetsuroo, recommended I visit Onigiri Miya here since I like the Tokyo one so much, but if I’m being honest I was definitely going to come anyway.”

Osamu grins, taking Keiji’s empty plates. “M’ glad to hear you’re such a fan.” 

She puts the dirty plates on a tray, and Keiji takes a bite of her inari-zushi, relishing the chewy texture and the sharp flavor of scallions. All this rice is going to make her sleepy later and the belt is already feeling a little tight around her waist, but despite its simplicity this is one of the best meals she’s had in a long time. She rarely cooks for herself, and other restaurants don’t compare to the intimacy of Osamy making food for her by hand and watching her eat it. The charming company certainly helps, and Keiji feels more full than she has in a long time. 

Still. She’s almost done with her food and then she’ll have to pay her bill and clear out. But she’s still hungry, gut crawling up her skin and Keiji leans forward, speaking up so she can get Osamu’s attention while she’s still nearby. 

“I might be moving to Kobe soon.”

That piques Osamu's interest, and she turns around. “Really? How come?” 

“There’s a position that’s opening up here.” Which is true. “I’m thinking of taking it, so I might move here in a few months time.” Which isn’t exactly true, Keiji was still thinking about it, but she’s got some time to respond to the offer and she’s not exactly opposed to a move. Tokyo is her home, but there’s only so much she can grow at her old office. 

Osamu smiles, gentle and sincere. “Well, if you take it, it’ll be nice to see a friendly face every once in a while.”

Keiji thinks to herself that if she did move to Kobe, she’d be here more than every once in a while, but she saves herself the embarrassment of saying that out loud. 

She polishes off her last plate, nodding to Osamu. “Miya-san, I will definitely drop by if I come to Kobe.”

Osamu takes her plate, grinning. Keiji looks at her mouth, the heft of her teeth behind her lips. She feels faint, all of a sudden. 

“Akaashi-san, how do you feel about trading numbers? Let's be friends.”

Keiji perks up, nodding, before digging her phone out of her bag. “Yes. It would be good to keep contact.”

Osamu takes her phone, tapping in her number. “Can I call you Keiji? Since we’re the same age, I mean.”

Her name in Osamu’s mouth is sexy, low voice curling around the consonants like they’re something to be tasted, savored. Keiji’s face feels hot, and she clears her throat, squeezing her legs together. “Keiji is fine.”

Osamu hands her phone back, and her contact is saved simply as  _ Miya Osamu _ . “This meal’s on me, Keiji-chan.”

_ Keiji-chan? _ She bites the inside of her cheek, blinking slowly, before the words sink in and she sputters. “What? No, I’ll pay for it, Miya-san. I wasn’t polite just for a free meal.”

Osamu reaches under the glass panel, stopping Keiji’s wrist before she reaches into her bag. The touch is searing, and Keiji stills under her palm. “I insist. Just don’t be a stranger, alright, Keiji? I’d love to get to know you better.”

She retracts her hands, blushing all the way to her toes. “Alright then. I’ll text you later tonight, Miya-san.”

Osamu steps back, and Keiji can still feel the heat of her where her hand touched. She wonders if she’d survive linking arms with her, or holding hands. “Just Osamu is fine.”

Around them, the dinner crowd grows louder and larger, and another staff comes up to Osamu, whispering something to her. Keiji doesn’t quite catch it, but it’s not meant for her anyway, so she sits, holding her bag in her lap, hesitating. 

“I think I’ll head out now, Osamu-san. You have more customers. I’m sure you’re busy.”

Osamu nods, leaning forward to smile and meet her eyes. Keiji stands up, knees feeling weaker than when she’d walked in. “Come visit when you’re in town.”

Keiji squeezes her hand around the strap of her bag, and lets herself hope that Osamu’s looking at her the same way Keiji is looking at her. “I’ll definitely come again.”

**Author's Note:**

> if im being tormented by butch osamu so will you


End file.
